


Daisy's Christmases With FitzSimmons

by queercapwriting (queergirlwriting)



Series: Of Chemicals and First Loves [10]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, FitzSkimmons - Freeform, Multi, WHAT AN OT3, also fitz in santa hats, and coulson being v e r y slow to catch on, and everything being slow and gradual and hella natural and just, anyway these precious holiday beans, even talbot knew before coulson, having bets with yo-yo on when the three of them will realize, i just have a lot of feelings about the progression of their relationship, i need fitz in santa hats, may and mack watching the whole thing, my christmas babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queergirlwriting/pseuds/queercapwriting
Summary: acenerdsbian asked:I haven't seen a good Fitzskimmons in a while, so if we could get something with them Cap that'd be great. Maybe juggling the holiday traditions Fitz and Simmons are used to with the desire to create new ones for Skye/Daisy whose upbringing didn't really lend itself to great holiday memories?
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Series: Of Chemicals and First Loves [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320944
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Daisy's Christmases With FitzSimmons

It was her first Christmas season with the team, and she felt more out of place than usual.

“Why is Fitz...” Skye tilted her head, unsure how to finish her question. Apparently, Simmons didn’t find that unusual. Of course she didn’t - completing someone else’s sentences was completely normal for her. And there she went.

“Locked in his bunk with a great big Do Not Enter sign on it, blasting heavy metal Christmas music?” Simmons supplied.

Skye squinted and bit her bottom lip. “Yes?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him. It’s just something he does every holiday season. He used to transform his room in the Academy into a little Santa’s workshop. The things he invents during the holiday season... One year, he made me a self-sustaining...”

Skye lost track of Simmons’ excited stream of words and stories and memories.

She didn’t have anything like that. And Fitz-Simmons already had their own holiday traditions, it seemed.

May and Coulson probably did, too.

Best if she just left well enough alone.

So she smiled and nodded and acted suitably impressed when it seemed appropriate.

Skye didn’t realize that Simmons noticed. No one ever had before, so why should anybody now?

Skye didn’t realize that Simmons cracked the holiday lock on Fitz’s door (she might be biochem, not engineering, but she knew how to apply Skye’s algorithms when she needed to) and sat on his bed, patiently ignoring his red face and stammering so she could explain that they needed to make extra sure that Skye feels welcome during her first Christmas on the bus.

And Skye had no way of knowing that Fitz’s eyes had lit up, because he was already on it.

She had fully prepared herself to wake up on Christmas morning in a certified mood. Fully prepared herself to put on a fake smile as she watched everyone else do their thing, then throw herself headlong into some assignment that could definitely wait, but that she’d treat like it was the most urgent thing on the planet.

She had not, in any way, prepared herself for Fitz-Simmons to wake her up by pounding on her door, shouting about Christmas and Santa Claus before rapidly descending into a loud discussion of the physics of reindeer-led sleighs and faster than light travel.

She yanked her door open, not caring that her hair was a mess, not caring that her t-shirt was rumpled from sleep, not remembering that she had only boy shorts, and no pants.

“The one day off we’ve had in centuries, and you’re waking me up because - “

“Because we have all these presents for you, Skye!” Fitz said, Santa hat yanked down over his ears, remote controls in his hands, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jemma tugged her into a tight, full-bodied hug that made Skye gulp and - she couldn’t help it - rest her cheek on Jemma’s shoulder, just for a second, just for a moment.

She didn’t know what to say as Jemma took her hand - she gulped again - and dragged her through the bus to where Fitz had set up a massive tree overnight, stacked high with gifts, a full quarter of them for Skye.

A fully functional, impeccably accurate model of her van. (From Fitz, with proud support and car nerdery assistance from Coulson.)

The most souped-up laptop she could ever imagine (and she imagined a lot), completely customized to her, down to her preferred typing patterns and with a keypad molded to her own hands. (From Fitz, with enthusiastic input from Simmons.)

A perfectly rendered painting of what the night sky(e) would look like from LA, without all the light pollution. (No one took credit for this one, but May actually smiled, like fully smiled, when Skye looked at her with tears in her eyes).

“You’re part of the family now, Skye,” Fitz told her when he tugged his own Santa hat off her head and placed it on hers.

“No escaping it now,” Simmons added.

She spent a good part of that morning crying alone in her bunk. From happiness, for once.

* * *

It was another few years before they were all able to celebrate Christmas together again.

When Jemma first came home from Maveth, she’d hardly been up for a romantic dinner alone with Fitz, let alone a whole Christmas celebration with the family.

On Christmas Eve, Simmons shared a quiet glass of wine with Daisy, and whatever else she and Fitz did to commemorate the evening, Daisy had no clue.

She had fun with Hunter and Bobbi and Mack - it was warm and it was sweet and it was family - but she missed Simmons. She missed Fitz.

She wondered, though she tried not to, if their first Christmas together had also been their last.

If the universe had been so cold to Fitz-Simmons that they’d only ever be each other’s warmth. If Daisy had no other part in it.

But then the next morning came. Christmas morning.

The knock on her door was soft and tentative.

Jemma.

Daisy almost tripped over her blankets to answer quickly. She could never get to Jemma quickly enough.

“Daisy,” Jemma said, the name still feeling new on her lips. But Daisy had meant what she’d said - Jemma really could call her whatever she wanted. “Merry Christmas.”

She held out a mug of cocoa, topped with so much whipped cream that Daisy couldn’t help but smile. Even with everything that had been going on, Jemma must have noticed how much more into sugar Daisy had found herself, after everything with her parents.

“Merry Christmas.”

Daisy thought that maybe their eyes lingered together for a moment longer than they normally would, a moment longer than someone else might consider appropriate.

“I made Christmas pancakes. For you, and for Fitz. Do you want to come back to our room? Share them with us, before Fitz eats them all?”

For you, and for Fitz. Our room. With us. Daisy’s head spun.

She cleared her throat. “What are Christmas pancakes?”

“The greatest pancakes ever to exist, Daisy!” Fitz called from down the hall.

Jemma giggled softly. Once again, she held out her hand for Daisy. Once again, Daisy took it.

Once again, Christmas felt like it could be... home.

* * *

“My father didn’t believe in holidays, not really,” Fitz told Jemma and Daisy. After the Framework. After all the torture and all the death and all the... all of it. “Celebrating was a womanly activity,” he said. His eyes were far away.

Daisy met Jemma’s eyes. Tears were burning there - Fitz was learning to talk about his father, but slowly. Slowly. Jemma’s hand absently traced the spot on her leg where Leopold - where Fitz - had shot her.

Fitz noticed. He knelt, immediately, and replaced Jemma’s fingers with his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Daisy had lost track of the number of times he’d apologized.

“I was only in there for a day, and I did terrible things too, Fitz,” she reminded him.

She brought her fingers to his chin, tilted his head up so he would look at her. She glanced at Jemma - she was still new at this. At all of this. At figuring out where she fit in their relationship, in their love. She’d been especially nervous about it, around the holidays. Figuring out where she fit, how she fit.

Was Jemma the only one allowed to comfort Fitz, like this? But Jemma smiled and took Daisy’s free hand.

Fitz looked up at her like his life hung on her next words.

And maybe they did.

But he didn’t let her speak them. He’d told her and Jemma, so many times, that comforting him wasn’t their job. Not about this.

They tried, anyway, and they did, anyway.

But he tried, too.

So he tilted his head so his lips kissed her palm.

“It’s Christmas, Daisy,” he smiled, with his eyes more than his lips. He kissed Jemma’s leg once more before he stood, and offered them both his hands. “My point about my father wasn’t to get lost in the past. It was to a build a future. Our future. He didn’t believe in holidays, but I do. Because you deserve them, Daisy. For yourself. And with us. So...”

He led them both off the Quinjet. He and Jemma had refused to tell Daisy where they were going, or why they were dressed so damn warmly.

Daisy gasped when he opened the bay doors.

He and Jemma had brought her... Christmas.

An immaculate igloo, big enough to fit Daisy’s entire history of crowded rooms with no real connections, complete with a smoking chimney that spoke of a warm fire inside. Two massive evergreen trees on either side of it, all strung with softly glowing white lights. A field of uninterrupted snow, as far as her eyes could see.

She didn’t ask how he’d managed to engineer it all.

She didn’t ask why he’d done this for her. He’d already said - he thought she deserved it.

When Mack emerged from the igloo, mugs of cocoa in his hands and Yo-Yo and Flint trying to get reindeer antlers on his head, May and Coulson next to them, it occurred to Daisy that FitzSimmons - her FitzSimmons - weren’t giving her anything she didn’t already have.

The three of them made a family together long ago. They just wanted to make sure she always knew.

Fitz held her hand while Jemma kissed her lips. Deke whooped from somewhere behind Mack. Flint snapped endless photos mid-laugh, because he’d never gotten over the whole idea of cameras. May tossed a snowball at Coulson, who promptly fell into a heap of fresh snow.

Home. FitzSimmons had brought her home for Christmas.

And for maybe the first time, she didn’t question it.


End file.
